Condensed Trigun
by Sugar Pill
Summary: A collection of drabbles and shorts, with both anime and manga references, no particular ships, or themes. Just whatever my twisted brain kicks out. Edited 2.20.2012
1. Ghost

Welcome to **Condensed Trigun**! This is where I'll post my stand-alone stories, like drabbles and shorts. If you like these sorts of things, be sure to check out **Trigun Drabbles**, a community I'm staff of (managed by the lovely Celesma, who writes wonderful drabbles herself). Okay, enough shameless self-promotion... A few notes before we begin:

A note on the rating: This collection is rated T and will rarely exceed the usual level of violence/sex/language/other fun stuff. I know we're all big boys and girls, but if a chapter is pushing that rating, I'll make a special warning note to let you know. Just so both my cheeks are covered.

A note on spoilers: This collection is riddled with spoilers, so I'm not going to warn you ahead of each chapter for specific ones. So please read at your own risk.

A note on archives: If you'd like to add this collection to an archive/community, I will be extremely flattered, but please contact me for permission first.

Disclaimer: Trigun © Yasuhiro Nightow. Not me.

And now that all that's out of the way... please enjoy! And review! Any and all feedback is greatly appreciated.

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**1. Ghost**

Vash took a sip of his coffee, glancing up from the paper. And then he choked.

There was someone sitting across the table from him. But that's not what had startled Vash. It was the fact that the person sitting there hadn't been seen by a living soul in over a year.

"W-W-Wolfwood?"

"Good morning to you too."

"Huh? What, I…" Vash sputtered like a toma swallowing sand. "I don't understand…what are you doing here?"

"I figured it was about time I stopped by."

"But all this time... where the hell have you been? For Christ's sake, we thought you were dead!"

"I never said that I wasn't."


	2. No Second Chances

**2. No Second Chances**

"Wild Turkey."

Vash had gone to see her.

He didn't know why. Impulse, maybe. But he thought of her daily, and impulses weren't things constantly pondered.

Her hair was longer than he remembered. Soft raven strands, those intense indigo eyes. Like the baby on her hip.

Vash tried to speak, but he could only stare. She was saying something, but he couldn't hear. A gold band on her finger.

_What, did you think she'd wait for you?_

"I'm sorry." He ran. He'd spent his whole life running.

_Meryl…_

"Leave the bottle."

He'd loved her. But life gave no second chances.


	3. The Waiting Room

**3. The Waiting Room**

Wolfwood opened his eyes. _Wait… eyes? _Wasn't he dead?

The room was white. Simply white, because that's all there was to say of it; white tile, white walls, white ceiling.

"Am I in Heaven?" he asked aloud.

"No, this is the Waiting Room."

Wolfwood spun around. There was man there. He matched the room; white suit, tie, shoes, even his beard. "Who are you?"

"Saint Peter. Pleased to meet you."

Wolfwood smiled wryly. "What, no pearly white gates?"

"Did you really think it would look like that?"

"Well… not really."

It was St. Peter's turn to smile. "Then there's your answer."


	4. Playing the Devil

A/N: Based on a scene from TriMax 2, probably one of my favorite scenes in the manga. Enjoy!

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**4. Playing the Devil**

The next thing Vash heard was the gunshot. It rang in his ears like a wicked elegy, echoing and reverberating across the dead landscape. As he turned, he realized with horror what had happened. He saw his attacker go rigid as the bullets hit his body; a puppet whose strings had been severed, trapped between life and death in slow motion. He saw the blood spatter, flecks of crimson tears weeping and falling. He saw the grim flash of the gun against Wolfwood's sunglasses as he fired again and again, each a luminous glimpse through the reaper's shroud. He saw his opponent's lifeless shell crumple to the sun-baked earth, his weapon falling away. The impact was deafening to Vash's ears, causing dust and dirt to be clouded towards the heavens.

Wolfwood had shot him. He had shot him and now he was dead.

Vash hadn't realized he'd been screaming. But his wordless roar had found a target as he flew towards the preacher.

"WOLFWOOD!" Vash hit him in the face with everything he had. The blow caused Wolfwood's head to snap sharply to the side, his cheap plastic shades falling away. "Why?" The priest didn't bother to turn his head to meet Vash's searing gaze, steely blue glaring from the corners of his eyes.

When Wolfwood said nothing, Vash collapsed into the dust before his former attacker. The blood was seeping from beneath his form, the deep red contrasting sharply with the bleak coloring of the ground. It was quickly forming a pool, but not faster than the dry earth was absorbing it's moisture. It seemed the planet was as hardened as it's occupants; it would get what it needed to survive, no matter where it came from.

"Why?" Vash repeated, his rage trimmed in moral disgust and hatred. "Why did you shoot him, Wolfwood?"

In response, Wolfwood suddenly shoved Vash roughly into the dirt, the force slamming his head and shoulder hard into the ground. Vash hissed in pain and cradled his head in his arms as hot pain began to throb through his system.

Vash glared up at Wolfwood. The priest looked like a black pillar against the cerulean sky, towering over Vash's form as he lay in the dust. The priest stared back, his eyes seething with intense fury as he spoke, his voice deceptively calm.

"Are you really such an idiot?" Wolfwood studied Vash, watching the outlaw pull himself wincingly into a sitting position. He had his back to Wolfwood, facing the body of the samurai. "If I hadn't shot him, it'd be _you_ lying there."

"You're wrong."

There was a menacing pause. "What did you say?" asked Wolfwood, his voice dangerously quiet.

Vash felt his fingers digging into the dry earth beneath him. "You're wrong," he repeated, looking at the body that lay before him. Those eyes, glassy orbs glazed with death… "He wouldn't have done it. He wouldn't have pulled the trigger."

"Don't screw with me, blockhead!" Wolfwood yelled, his voice starting to reveal his anger. "You're saying he wouldn't have shot at you?"

"I don't know!" Vash shot back. He pressed his prosthetic hand against his temple, trying in vain to calm the ringing in his head. "Maybe he would have fired, but…I would have just dodged! No matter how many times it took!" Vash glared at Wolfwood over his shoulder, his eyes burning with conviction. "Anything would be better than killing him and taking away his chance to stop! No one has the right to take the life of another!"

"Give it a rest, will ya?" Wolfwood shouted, grabbing Vash by the front of his coat and pulling him roughly to his feet. "You damn hypocrite!" Wolfwood glared at him, his gray eyes shining with frustrated fury. Vash stared back, but he made no move to remove his collar from the priest's grasp. Suddenly, Wolfwood gave a disturbing chuckle.

"Tongari, you're a slick one…" Wolfwood said, gritting his teeth together. "You talk of saving everyone, but you don't want to get your hands dirty."

Then suddenly Wolfwood grabbed Vash's wrist roughly, forcing his hand open. The priest unceremoniously reached to his hip and produced a handgun, twirling it a few times around his finger before slapping it into Vash's palm. He wrapped Vash's hand around the handle, forcing his finger to the trigger. Then Wolfwood yanked Vash's arm so the gun was pointed between his own eyes.

"Shoot."

Vash's eyes went wide with surprise, his brows furrowed, his mouth groping. But he said nothing. Wolfwood glared at him from around the gun barrel.

"If you really believe that I was wrong to shoot him, pull the trigger." He spoke with disturbing clarity, his eyes burning with finality. "In return, my role as the Devil will be handed over to you. That way you won't hesitate to take out the next man who stands in your way. It's a small price to pay, if it brings something like that out of ya…" Wolfwood forced the nozzle of the weapon into his forehead, staring at Vash with unblinking conclusiveness. "I'll trade my life."

Vash pressed his lips into a thin line, his hand tightening around the handle of the gun. But he did nothing.

Wolfwood sneered. "Can't do it, can ya? Chicken-shit."

"You are the coward here, Wolfwood," Vash accused simply. His face had become placid and emotionless, but his eyes were narrowed, as if he could stare right through the priest to his soul. "No matter what you do… you give it up so easily."

Wolfwood's eyes widened with anger at the statement. "_You're _the one who doesn't know when to give up!" He growled.

"What are you saying, looking so mad?" Vash said quietly. "You that afraid to trust someone?" Wolfwood froze, his face contorted with rage. He gritted his teeth, grimacing at Vash's words. _What was that in his face…? _he thought. _…Pity? Sympathy? _

"You told me… back then…" Vash spoke calmly, his green eyes enunciating every syllable. "You told me that my face looked better with a real smile. If you could see yourself through my eyes now…. you'd see a man forcing himself to play the Devil while his own heart cries out."

The two stared at each other, their eyes meeting unblinkingly. Steely blue-gray meeting intense aqua. Placid empathy meeting bristling rage. They made an unlikely pair, but their paths had crossed, and they had become comrades and friends. Friends that had different goals, different ideas, and different morals.

Wolfwood let his hand drop to his side. The gun fell from Vash's fingers, clattering to the barren ground. Then the preacher turned his back on his friend.

And he walked away, towards where the earth meets the sky.


	5. What's In A Name?

**5. What's In A Name?**

"What's your name, son?" the old timer asked.

"Um… Vash."

"Vash?" He laughed. "What kind of name is that?"

Vash smiled back. "You'd have to ask my… mother. She gave it to me."

"Do you always take what you're given?"

Vash paused. "But your name is who you are. You can't fight who you are."

"Wrong. Your name isn't _who _you are until you _make_ it who you are. Get it?"

"…No."

"Only you can decide when your name becomes you. You have to make a name for yourself."

75 years later, at July, the world was introduced to Vash the Stampede.


	6. Adaptation

**6. Adaptation**

"I thought I told you two to clean this up!" Meryl shouted, gesturing towards the kitchen. There was about three weeks worth of dirty dishes stacked in the sink, creating a small city of dangerously lopsided towers. There wasn't a single clear space of counter, all of it covered in trash, empty cans and remnants of takeout. There was also a fuzzy suspicious something growing next to the faucet that she didn't even want to wonder about.

"Hey, it's not even seven in the morning!" protested Wolfwood, pouring milk over his cereal. "At least wait until we eat something! We can't fend you off without nourishment." Meryl growled dangerously.

"We sorta forgot," said Vash lamely. "But we'll do it today," he added quickly. "Right, Wolfwood?"

The priest replied by rummaging in a drawer. "Are there any clean spoons?"

"NO!" Meryl screamed, gritting her teeth so hard that a vein popped out in her temple. "There would be IF YOU WASHED SOME!"

Wolfwood just shrugged. Then he fished a fork out of the drawer and sat back at the table. It took him several mouthfuls of cereal to realize both Vash and Meryl were staring at him.

"What?" He protested. "In times of trial, you have to adapt."

Vash rolled his eyes and beat his forehead into the table's surface. Meryl snarled, raising her hands in a choking motion. When the priest didn't even look up, she stalked out of the room with a shriek.

Wolfwood chewed thoughtfully. "Guess she's not a morning person."


	7. Only Human

A/N: Based on a scene from TriMax, Vol. 7. Enjoy!

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**7. Only Human**

When Rem saw the solitary tear slide down Knives' cherubic face, she knowingly violated his usual bubble of personal space and pulled him close, hoping he knew how much love she held for him in her heart.

Knives sobbed into her shirt, his small fists clutching the fabric as if for dear life. He closed his eyes and squeezed out the world, willingly accepting the beautiful dark of her embrace.

"There's so much we have to do… so it never happens again."

Knives heard her words, matching the rhythm of her heartbeat. Rem's heart…

Her _human _heart.

Knives suddenly pulled away from her, regaining his stony composure. He turned to leave, but regarded her one last time over his shoulder.

"Rem… thank you."

Knives now knew what needed to be done. If Rem only knew that mankind's condemnation had risen from the most divine aspect of the human condition.


	8. Leftovers

**8. Leftovers**

Everywhere there was blood, dark red weaving a pattern of slaughter across the tile and walls. The bodies of the Roderick Gang lay strewn throughout the bar, like trash tossed carelessly away. On their faces were contortions of terror framed in bullet wounds, smoking pistols still clutched in their dead grips. Their former captives sat rigid, their mouths gaping in silent screams, the blood of the dead smeared on their faces.

Legato observed the scene with his baleful gaze. Then, pointing at his unfinished cheesecake, he addressed the shaking barkeep in his sadistic monotone.

"May I get this to go?"


	9. Between A Rock And

A/N: Angst ahoy!

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**9. Between A Rock And...**

Vash had always hated hospitals.

In his one hundred plus years, Vash had spent plenty of time in one ward or another, dying or wishing he was. Numerous doctors had been amazed that he healed so quickly and told him he was lucky to be alive. Vash wasn't so sure it was luck.

He lay in a hospital now, most of his body wrapped in gauze and bandages. He felt a sensation of what must have been pain, but the drugs being pumped into him through the IV deadened everything, including his mind. Vash stared up at the ceiling tiles and let the beeping of the monitors make his brain go numb.

Vash hated how lifeless everything was. Everything seemed artificial and emotionless, with the pumps and valves and cords and machines, keeping people alive when they were supposed to be dead. It seemed wrong. Vash remembered Rem telling him about humanity's will to survive, how it was intense, so powerful that they would go to any lengths to ensure it. But what happened to the people who were no longer alive, but didn't have the weakness to die?

How was anyone supposed to recover in such a place? Vash really didn't have a choice in the matter. His body always healed, whether he wanted it to or not.

He stared one of the only windows in the ward. How long had he been there? A few hours? Days? Weeks? Did it even matter? The view from the window was as blank as the interior of the hospital. It was like there was some sort of screen that sucked all the color and vitality out of the landscape. It did the same to all the people as well.

Vash knew why he hated hospitals. Nothing was hidden in hospitals. Everything was sterilized and white and magnified underneath the harsh light. In hospitals, you couldn't hide behind your emotions or labels or expectations. Or your fake smiles. All of the suffering and the anguish that existed outside the hospital was amplified within it, because there was nothing else to take up the space.

In the bed next to him, a man coughed, his chest making faint wheezing noises. Vash watched the pump that filled his lungs with air, a manmade accordion that fed his body oxygen. In, out, in, out, keeping in time with the cluster of life support units around the man's bed. The man's wife was propped up in a chair next the bed, her eyebrows furrowing as she slept fitfully. Vash adverted his eyes. The man wasn't going to make it.

Vash closed his eyes as the timeless question brooded in his mind. Why did he live when others died? But no matter how many times Vash asked himself that question, he could never come up with an answer. That was his problem; too many questions and not enough answers.

What was his purpose? Did he even have one? Vash had spent the majority of his life wandering around this dust ball of a planet, searching for his purpose, a reason to be alive. It had gained him nothing but emptiness and grief and trips to the hospital, nothing but the weight of all the broken people that had strayed across his path. Sometimes Vash thought that maybe his purpose was to wander forever in search of his destiny, like he had somehow fallen through the cracks of meaning and sense when the universe had been created. He was searching for something he wouldn't know, even if he did manage to find it.

So what was the point?

Vash settled back in his bed and let his mind drift away to the beeps of the monitors and the whooshes of the pumps. At this point, Vash usually would have asked Rem what to do, asking her why things happened and why people were the way they were. Vash felt tears prick at his eyes.

But he didn't have the strength to cry. Besides, there was no point in asking questions of someone who left you a long time ago. She had never known the answer either.


	10. The Bet

A/N: Presenting some shameless fun. Enjoy!

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**10. The Bet**

Meryl sipped her chocolate milkshake casually. So far, that had been the highlight of her and Vash's first date. He was nervous, she could tell. He kept fidgeting with things and had already knocked over the saltshaker twice.

"Well… um… do you have any hobbies?" Vash asked lamely. He tried to remember some of the tips that Wolfwood had given him earlier, but that was all he could come up with. He could tell that Meryl wasn't impressed in the slightest, but she answered anyway.

"I like to read, and cook sometimes… mostly baking, though."

"Wow! That's neat!" Vash said a little too enthusiastically. _Think of something else! _"Well, if you believe it or not, one of my favorite things to do is fly kites. I thought that, if you wanted to, we could go after dinner-"

Suddenly Meryl burst into tears.

"Are you okay?" Vash asked concernedly. "What's wrong? Was it something I said?"

"No, no…" Meryl said, wiping her face with a napkin. "It's just… when I was a kid… my brother he… he died in an… unfortunate kiting accident."

"Oh… a kiting accident?"

"Yes, it was windy, and the string got wrapped around his neck and-" Meryl started to cry again.

"We don't have to talk about it… I'm sorry." Vash clumsily patted her hand. "I shouldn't have brought that up."

"No, you didn't know… it's fine."

There was a very uncomfortable silence. Meryl was still busy blowing her nose, and Vash was afraid to say anything, lest it lead to another Strife family tragedy.

Then Meryl began to laugh.

"What's so funny?" Vash was confused. "Why are you laughing?"

"You should have seen the look on your face!" Meryl could barely talk she was laughing so hard. "Priceless!"

"…what?"

"Vash, I was kidding!" Meryl giggled. "I never had a brother die in a kiting accident! I don't even have a brother!"

Vash simply stared at her. "So… it was a joke?"

Meryl nodded, laughing so hard that she clutched her side.

"Oh… heheheh…" Vash laughed nervously. "You really had me going! I felt so bad!"

"Yeah, I know! You should have seen the look on your face…" Meryl wiped tears of laughter from the corner of her eyes. "By the way, never take romantic advice from Wolfwood. That's just asking for it."

"But… what- um…."

"Kites? Please." Meryl snorted. "Yep, looks like the preacher man owes me ten double dollars. You want a drink?"


	11. The Bet II

A/N: More shameless fun. Enjoy!

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**11. The Bet II**

Meryl woke up to the morning sun warming her face. She yawned and stretched her arm luxuriously over her head, blinking slowly.

It was about then that she noticed she wasn't the only person in her bed.

Meryl screamed and tumbled onto the floor. As she scrambled up, she yanked the sheet off the bed to expose the intruder. It was-

"VASH!"

At this, he woke up. He rubbed his eyes. Then he looked at Meryl and yelped, pointing.

It was about then that Meryl noticed she was wearing very little clothing.

She screamed again, wrapping the sheet around herself. Vash screamed too, and in his failed attempt to get up, fell onto the floor.

It was about then that Meryl and Vash both noticed that all Vash had on were his boxers.

"Did we-" Meryl started.

"I don't know, did you-" Vash began.

"Why are you asking ME? You're the one who's almost naked!"

"You're one to talk!"

They both stopped, breathless and completely frustrated. Meryl remembered something vaguely about tequila shots.

Before either could say anything else, the door opened. It was Wolfwood and Millie. Wolfwood was in the same state as Vash, and Millie was wearing the preacher's shirt.

"See, Nick! I told you Sempai and Mr. Vash would hook up!" The big girl smiled. "Pay up, sweetie."

Wolfwood grumbled something that sounded like "dammit" and stuffed a crumpled five double dollar bill into her waiting hand.

"Millie! How could you?" Meryl yelled. "Did we-"

Millie just smiled.


	12. Assumptions

****Warning: Sexual content in this chapter. But it's not too lemontastic, I promise.

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**12. Assumptions**

Meryl cried out softly at her release, arching her back against the sheets. Vash followed soon after her, groaning lowly as he came.

The two collapsed into one another, mixing sweat and shallow breaths. Meryl ran her fingers through Vash's damp hair and smiled. She loved this. She loved this moment where they were too breathless to speak, but words weren't required. She loved the way Vash smelled, the way his body fit into hers. She loved the feel of his weight on top of her, loved-

Suddenly, Vash rolled off of her and sat up on the edge of her bed. His form was silhouetted in the moonlight, the dim light reflecting off his body, both real and prosthetic. His head was turned so Meryl couldn't see his face.

"Vash…?" She reached up to gently lay her hand on his thigh, but he shifted away.

"It was just sex, Meryl." His voice was soft, but his words cut through the air with a simple cruelness. "It meant nothing."

Without waiting for her to answer, Vash stood up and collected his clothing from the floor. He picked up each piece in fluid motions, without missing a beat. Not at all like he had taken them off in the heated moments before.

Before leaving her, Vash paused in the doorway. He turned his head so he could speak over his shoulder without looking at her. She still couldn't see his face.

"I'm sorry."

Then he left, walking down the hall as unceremoniously as he had arrived. Meryl pulled the sheets around her naked form. She suddenly felt very cold, even though it was a warm night. She wrapped her arms around her legs and buried her face in her knees. Her bed suddenly felt too big for one person.

Meryl wondered why she'd thought this time would be different.


	13. Assumptions II

**13. Assumptions II**

Meryl turned over so she could watch Vash as he slept. He was turned on his side, so she could see his face. She watched as his chest rose and fell evenly, and how each breath made little wisps of blond hair dance across his nose. She watched his eyelids flutter and wondered what he was dreaming about.

Vash looked so peaceful when he slept. And not that phony serenity that he was always trying to fool her with. He truly looked at ease.

Now was a perfect time to try it.

Meryl had been thinking about it for weeks now, but hadn't worked up the courage to do it. Maybe if she did it while he was asleep, she could see what his reaction would be, and he wouldn't remember it or think it was in a dream or something. This way, she could practice before she did it for real.

Besides, if she didn't do _something_ now, she was sure she was going to drive herself insane. Well, more insane than she already was.

Slowly, Meryl lifted the sheet and slid her arm out from underneath it, watching Vash all the while to make sure he didn't wake up. He didn't. Then she hesitantly inched her hand over to his side of the bed and gently placed it against his cheek. He still didn't move.

Okay. It was now or never. Meryl took a deep breath and did it.

"I love you."

A slight smile crept onto Vash's face and he shifted so his arm was around her waist. Meryl's heart nearly burst with happiness.

"I love you too, Rem."


	14. Close Call

**14. Close Call**

Vash was on his way to the general store in search of donuts. Meryl was following him, claiming it was her professional responsibility. Millie was following the both of them, because that was her professional responsibility. Wolfwood just wanted cigarettes.

Suddenly, a portal ripped opened in front of the group. A mysterious woman stepped out, glowing with an alien light.

In a blink, all four had their weapons drawn.

"Bounty hunter?" Wolfwood demanded.

"Or worse, it's one of those fangirls from the 'real world'," Vash shuddered.

"If it's another Mary Sue, I swear to God…" Meryl warned.

"There is no need to fear," the woman said, walking towards them with open arms. "I am Mulder's sister, Samantha. I have come to-"

Suddenly Millie shot her square in the chest with her stun gun, causing her to drop like a rock.

"Cross-over," Millie said. Then she smiled. "Whew, that was a close call, huh?"


	15. Not A Question Of Morals

**15. Not a Question of Morals**

The sun beat down without mercy as the truck rumbled across the barren landscape, leaving a trail of dust in it's wake. By the position of the sun, Wolfwood guessed that it was about noon; his watch had been suffocated in a sand storm about a week ago. And by the sweat running down his forehead and into his eyes, he guessed that it was well over a hundred. The wind created by the truck was a little comfort that made the heat almost bearable, the kind of bearable where the knife scrapes across your skin but doesn't quite cut the surface; still painful, but not life threatening.

Wolfwood stared out at the desolate landscape. There was nothing but sand and cracked clay as far as the eye could see, and there wasn't a cloud in the seemingly endless cerulean dome above them. Every once in a while there would be a rock or a small boulder that they could gauge their travel by, but otherwise, the scenery seemed to crawl along, like they were barely moving. Or maybe the land around them was slowly revolving and they weren't really moving at all. Figures.

It had been almost an hour since Wolfwood and Vash had hitched with an old farmer a little outside of Ripmela. He didn't know for sure, since his watch didn't work, but it felt like a damn long time. Maybe that was because Vash hadn't said a word the entire ride.

Wolfwood heaved a frustrated grunt and turned to look at Vash. His friends' eyes were fixed on the floor of the truck's bed, his arms wrapped loosely around his knees. But Wolfwood knew that Vash wasn't interested in rust eroding the floor beneath them. Vash was lost deep in thought, his normally bright aqua eyes dark with inner turmoil. It was brooding if he ever saw it. Wolfwood felt for Vash, but if there was one thing the preacher man had learned in life, it was that you couldn't solve anything by running away. Another was that stewing solved nothing either. Enough was enough.

"All right, Tongari, out with it." Wolfwood demanded.

"Huh?" Vash blinked and glanced at Wolfwood. Wolfwood couldn't tell if he was irritated for being interrupted in his melodrama, or if he was indifferent.

"I said out with it," he repeated.

"Out with what?"

"Quit playing dumb, needle noggin. You haven't said a word since we left Ripmela."

"And?"

"And?" Wolfwood mocked indignantly. "You're obviously stewing."

"Stewing?"

"I said quit playing dumb, damnit!" Wolfwood dug in his jacket for a cigarette, but came up empty handed. "You know, where you go over something again and again in your mind, thinking about it, wishing it had never happened, blah, blah, blah. You know, stewing."

"No, I didn't know." Vash's face remained as blank as stone. "And so what if I was?"

"It's bad for you," Wolfwood answered simply. He patted down his pants, still searching for a smoke. He finally found one in his pant pocket. After picking off a piece of lint, he stuck it in the familiar crook in his mouth and lit up, breathing a sigh of smoky relief.

Vash snorted in disbelief. "This coming from a gun-toting preacher who cusses, drinks and chain-smokes."

"Hey, quit changing the subject. This is about you, not me."

Vash rolled his eyes and turned to stare at the floor again.

"Fine, I can see you don't want to talk," Wolfwood said. "How 'bout a story then?" he asked suddenly. "I've been told I tell really good ones."

Vash made a noncommittal noise in response.

Wolfwood continued anyway. "All right, hmmm…let's see… ah! I got it." He cleared his throat. Then he began.

"A few years ago, I wandered into this little backwater town. I'd been walking for a while, so I decided to stop in at the local saloon for a drink and a rest. I plopped myself down at the counter, rapped my knuckles on the counter and ordered a tall one. I was just starting to enjoy my drink when the most beautiful woman I've ever seen walked in." Wolfwood paused for dramatic effect. Vash blinked.

"Aren't you going to ask me how beautiful she was?" Wolfwood prompted.

Vash sighed. "How beautiful?" he asked begrudgingly.

"On a scaled of 1-10, I think about a 12." Vash's eyebrows rose slightly. "Seriously, she was gorgeous. Long, red hair, big blue eyes, beautiful body… The. Complete. Package." Wolfwood enunciated his words with jabs of his cigarette. "Anyway, I was sitting there, staring at this beautiful woman, trying not to drool on myself, when she sashays on over and sits on the stool next to me! I thought I'd died and gone to heaven. And ended up in a bar.

"Anyway, so we got to talking, and all the while I'm trying to put the moves on her. She seemed pretty receptive, but then she said it." Wolfwood paused again.

This time Vash caught his cue. "What'd she say?"

"She said that she wouldn't be with anyone that was a smoker."

Vash gave a small laugh. "Ouch, Romeo."

"Yeah, no kidding. I mean, what are the chances? The one chance I have to be with a truly beautiful woman, and she's picky. You only see a couple of truly gorgeous ladies in your entire lifetime! So, I did the only thing I could."

"And what was that?"

"I lied."

"Are you serious?" This time Vash really laughed. "You told her that you didn't smoke?"

"Yes, sad, but true. I told her that I wasn't a smoker. She was that beautiful, Vash," Wolfwood looked lovingly at his cigarette. "Even more lovely than Miss Nicotine."

"Then what happened?"

"Well, after we got past the not smoking thing, my wonderful charm and dashing good looks won her over." Vash snickered, but Wolfwood ignored him. "I had it in the bag. We went up to her hotel room and proceeded to suck face in the French tradition. And then, one thing led to another, and… well, you get the picture." Wolfwood grinned stupidly. "But then something weird happened. Really weird."

"She ended up being a man?"

"No, stupid!" Wolfwood shouted, giving Vash a good whack in the shoulder. "Who's telling the story here, eh?"

Vash laughed so hard he clutched his side. "No, go on, please."

Wolfwood straightened his collar and jacket. "No, to answer your question, she was definitely a woman," he said indignantly. "But by this time I hadn't had a cigarette in close to three hours, which is a long time for someone like me. So we were up in her hotel room, and I started to get a really bad craving. I mean, really bad. There I was, making love to the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, and all I could think about was where I could get a cigarette afterwards. I didn't even enjoy it! It totally ruined the whole experience."

"Huh."

"And do you know what the moral is?"

"Wait… this story has a moral? You lied to a woman so you could get her into bed."

"No! Well, yes," Wolfwood admitted, grinding his cigarette butt out and flicking it aside. "But that's not what I'm talking about."

"Then what?"

"The moral is, you should never try to be something your not, because it can never work out in the end." Wolfwood suddenly turned serious. "You have to be yourself and face your own life without lies or regret."

Vash looked at the floor again. After a moment, he said, "That's a good moral."

"I try."

Just then, the truck slowed to a stop. "This is as far as I go, boys!" The old timer shouted from the cab of the truck.

Vash and Wolfwood collected their things and hopped off the truck. "Thanks, mister!" Wolfwood shouted. The farmer gave a quick wave, his truck kicking up a cloud of dust as it sputtered away in the opposite direction.

As they watched the truck barrel off across the desert, the two stood in silence. Wolfwood pulled out his cheap plastic shades, and Vash unfolded his infamous orange lenses.

"Hey, Wolfwood?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

Wolfwood smiled. "Hey, no problem. Think nothing of it." Vash grinned in return. Then the two began to walk, passing a large sign off the side of the road:

CARCASSES: 3 ILES

* * *

A/N: Carcasses is one of the towns where Knives makes all the citizens disappear, so this story takes place a little after Vash agrees to leave Lina and Grandma Sheryl. Who names a town "Carcasses" anyway? That's like asking to be decimated by a genocidal plant trying to flush his twin out of hiding. Well, don't say Knives doesn't have a sense of humor... heh.


	16. The Rules

A/N: Based on a scene from TriMax, Vol. 7. Enjoy!

* * *

**16. The Rules**

"This is a mistake!"

"Can you honestly say you wouldn't have done the same?"

William Conrad let his frustration out with a sigh, leaning against the tree. Rem sat on the other side of the trunk, legs drawn up, her arm casually resting on her knee. Both gazed out at the lush expanse of the rec room, taking in the fertile, rolling grass, the flawless cerulean sky, and the child-like life forms that had been accidentally created by man.

As Rem and Conrad looked on, Vash and Knives stood silently in the distance, hands in their pockets, the light wind rustling their clothing. Even though they were some yards away, she knew they were staring at her, at Conrad. She could practically feel their intense gazes, one green, one blue. They were so young, yet so old…

"Can you?" Rem asked again.

"This is a serious violation of the rules, Rem," Conrad stated matter-of-factly.

"Indeed," Rem replied quietly. "But I think those rules were broken when we tried to play God."


	17. Compromise

**17. Compromise**

Vash had never been able to sleep on his back. He didn't know why. He preferred one side or the other, maybe his stomach if he wasn't too hungry or too full. Or too drunk. But not on his back.

Vash looked down at the mess of dark hair that was resting on his chest. He watched Meryl as she slept, her eyelids fluttering slightly, her even breathing making stray strands of hair dance in gentle rhythm. Her hand moved lightly against his skin as she snuggled closer to him.

Vash smiled, sighing happily. Maybe he could learn to sleep on his back.


	18. Don't Try This At Home

**18. Don't Try This At Home**

Wolfwood took a long drag on his cigarette as he surveyed the scene before him. "Okay, explain it again, Tongari."

Vash groaned. "But I already told you what happened! C'mon, Wolfwood, aren't priests supposed to be merciful and all that?"

"Again, Vash. I wanna make sure I got it."

"Some friend you are…" Vash muttered. "Okay, fine. I was trying to cook myself an omelet. I had the eggs all ready, and I was going to put ham and cheese and-"

"I don't wanna know about your stupid omelet."

"Jeez, you know, you're a really hostile person! It's bad for your health."

"Tongari, I'm gonna be bad for your health if you don't get on with it!"

"All right, sheesh! Anyway, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted…" Wolfwood growled threateningly. "I was trying to cook myself breakfast. But I couldn't get the burner on the stove to light… and…" Vash trailed off.

"…And?" Wolfwood coaxed.

"You know, I think you're enjoying this."

"Now what kind of friend would I be if I missed a chance to exploit you for entertainment?"

"Isn't that a sin, Preacher Man?"

"Keep the Good Book out of this. What happened after that?"

Vash sighed. "I bent down to look at the burner, you know, to try and figure out why it wasn't working. But when I did, I kinda…caught my hair on fire."

Wolfwood snorted. "Kinda?"

"Yes, kinda, dammit!" Vash fingered his scorched locks regretfully. "It's not my fault that stove had a vendetta against me!"

"Un-huh. And I'm sure it wasn't the stove's fault that you use a shit-load of gel on your hair everyday either?"

"Well, the next time I run across fire-retardant hair gel, I'll be sure to stock up." Vash retorted sarcastically.

"Quit being a smartass and go on."

Vash muttered mockingly under his breath. "Well, seeing as my head was on fire, I looked around really quick for something to put myself out with. I was kinda limited in my options, so I grabbed the dish towel off the counter. But since I was panicking to say the least, I was a little clumsy-"

"Like there's a time when you're not?"

"-and I accidentally knocked over a bottle."

"And, for our educational benefit," Wolfwood said sarcastically, "Would you please tell the class what was in this bottle?"

Vash shuffled his feet in the dust. "well, it was…um, whiskey."

"Ah, whiskey! And what was a bottle of whiskey, opened no less, doing on the counter?"

"I was using it to cook with, okay?" Vash insisted. "It adds flavor!"

"…right. Then what?"

"Well, the bottle fell onto the stove, and since it was whiskey, and since the burner was on, and alcohol is kinda flammable…um…"

The four of them stood before the twisted and charred remains of their motel.

Millie had been watching the two's conversation with mild amusement. "Wow, Mr. Vash, you sure are a klutz! Too bad Sempai and I weren't able to get our suitcases out before the building collapsed!"

Meryl hadn't said anything. She was staring at the smoldering ruin, her hands clenched tightly at her sides. A vein was twitching dangerously on her forehead.

Wolfwood exhaled lazily. "You'd better run fast."

Vash let out a squeak. Then, with all possible dignity, he turned and ran like hell screaming down the street, with Meryl and her derringers in hot pursuit.


	19. Think Inside The Box

**19. Think Inside The Box**

Meryl tried in vain to suppress the sobs that wracked her shoulders, slamming the door behind her. The force was enough to knock a picture off the wall, the glass shattering and splintering all over the floor. She didn't notice.

She looked widely around as she stood in the middle of the bedroom of the small house, wiping clumsily at her face. Her gaze fell on the desk, and a thin smile traced her lips.

Work. Work would save her. Work was neat and orderly, perfect columns and rows. It would take her mind off her emotions.

Meryl stumbled to the desk and yanked out the chair. She sat down quickly and pulled the stack of the newest insurance claims towards her, grabbing for a pencil out of the cup next to the desk lamp. Meryl sniffled heavily and wiped at her face again, posing the pencil above the form. With a shaky sigh, she brought the lead point to the paper.

The tip of the pencil snapped off.

With a vicious scream, Meryl threw the pencil down and cleared the desk with one sweep of her arm. Everything went tumbling to the floor, the lamp clattering, the pencils and pens flying, everything crashing down in a cloud of white insurance forms.

Meryl slid out of the chair and crumpled to the floor. A heavy silence fell over the room. Everything was bathed in an eerie light from the lamp that now lay sideways on the floor. Meryl shook as tears rolled down her cheeks.

The insurance claims lay scattered across the floor, and the contents of desk were strewn in every direction. She watched blankly as a pencil slowly rolled underneath the bed.

There had been several small boxes on the desk. Meryl had a box for everything; bills to be paid, bills paid, insurance claims investigated, claims completed, mail in, mail out, grocery lists, to do lists. Everything filed and checked and perfectly organized. Now they were overturned all around her, their contents heaped in a hapless pile. Total chaos.

As Meryl sat there crying, in the middle of the mess she had created, a bitter thought crossed her mind. In the middle of the paper clips and the staples, the pencils and pens, the bills and forms, she realized what she had done wrong.

She had forgotten to make a box for herself.


	20. Ironic

**20. Ironic**

Vash felt himself stumble, sending him tumbling to the dusty earth. He barely noted the impact his tired body made, but still squeezed his eyes and his mouth shut against the dust out of habit. After all, he had fallen many, many times before, he was used to it. Only this time, he wouldn't be getting up…

Vash could feel it. This was the end.

Once the dust had settled, Vash opened his eyes. The sun blazed above him in the flawless blue dome of sky. There were a few clouds here and there, whimsical wisps of white that floated lazily along the horizon. All around him there was serene silence, the world seemingly at peace with itself. It was nice.

Vash felt he could not have asked for a better deathbed. He felt strangely at ease, and let his palms unfurl from the fists he customarily made. From the corner of the universe came a breeze that gently stirred his hair, which had turned completely black in the previous months.

His only regret was that he was alone. Somehow he had always known that he would die alone, but then again, he had been alone for most of his long life. Vash was used to solitude, to loneliness, and the empty spaces in between had always been his home. He could not have expected anything more.

But there was one person who had made him feel a little less lonely, a long, long time ago. She had made him a warm place, and had even loved him, which was vastly more than Vash had ever expected from anyone. Until she had died… ages and ages ago it seemed…

All this reminiscing was getting Vash a little choked up, and as his tears ran down the sides of his face and pooled on the dry earth beneath him, he smiled wryly, in spite of such normally grim circumstances. Here he was, at the end of his own life, and he was remembering hers.

Before Meryl had died, her hair had turned completely white. And now, as Vash lay in the dust preparing for his own death, his hair was completely black. It was ironic, in a funny sort of way.

Vash exhaled and let his eyes drift closed, the dust settling around him for the final time. Strange how things worked like that sometimes.


	21. Doubt

**21. Doubt**

The second that Vash decided to shoot Legato Bluesummers instead of allowing those damned spiders to suffer, Knives felt it. It was as if someone had smacked him on the inside of his head, the power of his brother's anguish almost causing him to lose consciousness. Gripping the edges of his high-backed chair, Knives had to work more than he liked to admit to regain his composure. Vash had long since blocked Knives from reading his mental presence, but that broadcast had been so loud, the older twin was certain most of Gunsmoke had heard it.

It was a piercing scream, one that carried with it all the suffering those cursed creatures had made his younger brother to endure over the last century. Knives blinked in rapid succession, the magnitude of the emotion making his eyes sting, even though LR Town was over 2,000 iles away.

Then, silence.

Knives furrowed his brows and tented his fingers, allowing his weight to cause his chair to recline slightly. That pain, if he had been able to sense it from that distance, even through Vash's normal mental shields, must have been much, much worse than anything Knives had felt. He could only imagine the agony his twin was in, and that disturbed him. It made his heart ache in places that had long before gone cold.

And for one moment, before his rational mind came running with reassurances and explanations, before he could convince himself otherwise, Knives felt that maybe, just maybe, he couldn't justify this latest cruelty against his brother.


	22. Forgiven

**22. Forgiven**

"What are your sins, child?" The priest asked, customarily keeping his eyes trained forward, as to not pressure the worshiper on the other side of the wicker screen. "If you confess, all will be forgiven."

"I have many sins according to your book, if I have read it correctly," Knives said sneeringly. "But I have another matter to discuss, something I believe you will be able to help me with."

"I am here to help, son." Knives could hear the falter in the priest's voice, however slight. He could almost taste his uncertainty, imperfectly masking fear.

"Well, you see… I do believe I have blood on my hands."

The priest knitted his brows together in confusion as he felt something warm and wet splatter on his face. He wiped his cheek and then examined his fingers in the dim light of the confessional, startled to see it was red. In horror, he looked through the screen at who he thought was an innocent member of his congregation.

And was shocked to find out how wrong he was.

On the other side of the screen, Knives was smiling maniacally, his hand pressed hard against the wicker so that droplets of blood oozed through the cracks. The priest screamed in disgust and terror, which just made Knives laugh. A split second later, and the priest slumped against the wall, his eyes rolled back, saliva and blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.

Knives stepped out of the confessional, still giggling to himself. Legato was waiting for him by the altar, arms crossed, bored-looking as always. Before them stretched the church, row after row of wooden pews. Scattered throughout lay the people who were unlucky enough to attend service that Sunday morning, their bodies slumped in the pews and littering the floor and center aisle.

"I've heard humans speak of how they feel lighter after attending this thing called church," Knives sighed, stretching languorously like a cat. "And I've always wanted to try it."

"Do you feel lighter, Master?" Legato asked in his monotone, managing to sound eager and listless at the same time.

Knives surveyed the scene of carnage before him and grinned. "You know, I think I do."


	23. Brown Eyed Girl

**23. Brown-Eyed Girl**

"I've always been intrigued by these," Meryl confessed, fiddling with Vash's infamous orange sunglasses as the two languished in bed one Sunday morning.

"Have you now?" Vash teased, regarding her through sleepy lids, propping himself up with one arm. "Is it because I'm a dashing, rogue gunman from the Outer, while you are a sheltered city girl, innocent to the ways of alcohol, gunpowder, and promiscuity?"

"Ha!" Meryl snorted. "First of all, I can out-drink you, and I'm half your size," she stated with the authority of a prosecutor during a cross-examination, tallying each point off on her fingers, "and second, I received top marks in weapons defense during field training."

"You cannot out-drink me!" Vash argued. "I have like a foot and a hundred pounds on you, Short Girl!"

"Oh yeah? Remember Millie's birthday party last month?"

Vash grumbled under his breath, sticking out his bottom lip childishly. "That was one time."

Meryl simply raised her eyebrows and laughed. Turning over, she snuggled closer, lazily spinning the lenses between her fingers, admiring the way the morning sunlight was refracted in them, making little orange spots dance around the room. "Besides," she whispered huskily. "After what we did last night, I don't think either of us can be called innocent."

She felt Vash's laugh rumble against her back. "Oh, right," he said, playfully wrapping an arm around her. "Now THAT was fun… who knew it was insurance girls you had to watch out for in bed?"

"But I'm not just any insurance girl…" Meryl giggled. She jumped up and spun to face Vash, slipping the sunglasses onto her face as she did. "I'm Derringer Meryl, most feared outlaw in the Outer!" She pointed her fingers into a mock gun and aimed at Vash, sticking out her tongue and closing one eye in a show of concentration. "And I've got you in my sights… bam!"

Expecting at least a giggle, Meryl was surprised when Vash merely stared at her, his mouth slightly agape. It could have been called a look of shock, but there was something darker bubbling behind his eyes.

"Vash?" Meryl asked tentatively, her pose drooping slightly. "Are you okay?"

"You look… you look…." Vash stumbled, his breathing starting to come in rapid, shallow gasps. Even with the space between them, it could be seen that he was shaking. He seemed to not only be staring at her, but through her.

"Vash?" Meryl pressed, her voice straining around her alarm. "What's wrong? You're scaring me!"

Without warning, Vash vaulted from the bed and ran from the room, snatching the sunglasses from off her nose in one swift movement. Meryl heard him slam the bathroom door, and then the unmistakable click of the lock being turned. Instinctively, Meryl held a hand against her face, as if Vash had slapped her.

In the bathroom, Vash turned on the faucet at the sink to hide the sound of his anguished sobs. Perching on the edge of the bathtub like a broken bird, he buried his face in his trembling hands, letting the glasses fall to the tile floor with a clatter.

_She looked… she looked like she had brown eyes with those on…_

Vash felt his horror and confusion rise in his throat, and promptly became sick in the nearby toilet. He gripped the white porcelain as if clinging for dear life, all the while crying like only a lost child can.

_She looked like she had brown eyes… just like… just like her… _

_Rem…_

After that, Meryl never saw the orange sunglasses again.

* * *

A/N: Written in response to noticing Vash's eyes look brown behind his orange sunglasses. Also, how in Episode 25 of the anime, Vash sees Rem's face superimposed over Meryl's, and it's one of the only times Vash shows open affection for Meryl. And I know this was supposed to symbolize how Meryl's actions gave Vash hope to continue with his journey, but it was so heavy-handed it came off as weird to me (and a little creepy).


	24. No Hablo Espanol

**24. No Hablo Español **

Vash had seen some strange things before in his lifetime, but this one was definitely new.

"¿Dónde estoy? ¿Quiénes son ellos? ¡Contésteme!"

Knives had just woken up from his coma and was speaking rapidly. In Spanish.

"He's been asleep for a while…" Millie said. "Maybe he's confused?"

"This is WAY beyond confused," Meryl retorted. "He's speaking a whole other language!"

"¡Hermano!" Knives hollered, pointing a finger distinctly at Vash. "¿Usted me tira otra vez, usted no? ¿usted no?"

Vash just stared at his brother. Then he stared at the insurance girls. Meryl and Millie stared at Vash. Then all three stared at Knives. Knives gave them his best murderous glare.

Awkward silence.

Vash raised his hand tentatively. "¿Hola?"

* * *

A/N: Here's what Knives is saying: "Where am I? Who are they? (meaning the girls) Answer me! Brother! You shot me again, didn't you? Didn't you?" The title means "I don't speak Spanish" and of course, "hola" means "hello". The translation might not be completely accurate, because I used one of those online translators for the words I didn't know. Just in case there are any anal-retentive Spanish-speaking people out there. You know who you are.


	25. Tree Hugger

A/N: Was there any doubt Vash is a hippie? Enjoy!

* * *

**25. Tree Hugger**

Vash wandered quietly through the groves of Little Arcadia, letting the cool night breeze ease some of the tension in his face. All around him were the sounds of the tree branches swaying in the gentle wind, the rustling of the leaves and the quiet groaning of the limbs whispering to him through the darkness, like a lost language that would reveal all the secrets of the universe, if only he knew how to listen. To Vash, at that moment, there was not a more beautiful sound in the world.

He approached one tree, an old oak judging by its impressive height and breadth. Vash gently placed his calloused hand against the tree's rough bark, tentatively at first, as if he needed permission to violate this plant's personal space. After a few moments, he became bolder, pressing both his palms, both natural and manmade, against the uneven surface of the tree. His fingers were like those of a blind holy man taking in a sacred text, eager and yet reverent as he traced every crevice and crack, every knot and bulge.

Vash felt as if he could sense everything in this tree's history through his hands, like he had been there when it was planted lovingly in the soil, when it had sprouted through the surface like an eager child, as it had grown and developed into something of full-fledged beauty. At the same time, Vash also felt that this tree had seen his beginnings, too. It was silly, because he was certain he was much older than this oak, but Vash couldn't help it. Trees were a part of his past, inexplicably tied to his earliest memories. Learning about the trees from Earth together with Knives during their lessons, playing hide-and-go-seek around them in the geo plant, listening to Rem's sweet voice as she read the twins fairy tales underneath the shade of large branches…

Without realizing it, Vash had begun to cry, rivulets of hot liquid streaming silently down his cheeks. He wrapped his arms lovingly around the oak's trunk, holding it as tightly as he could, as if clinging for dear life. He slowly sank to his knees, coming to rest at the tree's wide base, his weight sinking slightly into the springy turf. Vash pressed his cheek against the rough texture of the oak's skin, letting his tears fall unchecked, leaving dark smears where the moisture slid off his face and plopped onto the bark. The tree's limbs continued to sway above him, as if the branches were doing their best to return the embrace.

Trees held rings that held time itself, each alternating band encompassing the highest and lowest points of existence, chaos incarnate, but also the incarnation that all these things had to combine for the world to function, for things to makes sense. Trees were all the things that existed before the loneliness and the heartache and the loss and the disappointment and the pain and the anguish that had consumed Vash's life for over a century, a reminder that at one time, he had been truly, unabashedly happy. Trees were true happiness to Vash, love and peace and everything in between. If trees could grow on this dustbowl of a planet, in the middle of the barren desert, in the midst of cruelty and greed and the worst parts of humanity, then maybe there was hope after all. Maybe all of this wasn't in vain.

Vash realized that it was more than a bit silly for him to be hugging a tree in the middle of the night, crying like a lost child. He knew that if the insurance girls found him creeping around in the dark like some vagabond, Meryl would smack him good. He knew that he shouldn't be wasting time like this instead of looking for Knives to settle their century-long conflict, once and for all. But none of that matter then. Right then, at that very moment, all that mattered was that Vash, the Humanoid Typhoon, the Devil in Red, the Demon from July, the Stampede Himself, felt just a little more calm. For one of the few, brief moments in his long life, Vash felt like he was in the right place at the right time, fulfilling the purpose he had been created for.

Because at that moment, as he kneeled on the ground hugging that tree and crying softly, listening to the rustle of the leaves and the groaning of the limbs above him whisper in the night air, the trees were speaking to Vash, and it was exactly what he needed to hear.


	26. Deja Vash

**26. Déjà Vash**

It was odd in a way, and sad in so many others.

Through his many lifetimes and endless travels, Vash had seen so many faces… so many that now they were starting to blur together. Everyone looked like everyone else, and at the same time, everyone else looked like someone, someone he knew. Someone he had known before.

It was mostly the small things that would make him remember, drag him back, a rusted anchor stapled to his heart. But after all, when you got down to it, wasn't it always the small things?

_A sight_… Cheap plastic sunglasses that hide expression… Cerulean eyes clear and unclouded by the scourge of life… wisps of short, raven hair dancing in the desert wind…

_A smell_… The tantalizing lightness of lavender… Gun powder mixed with the swirling of cigarette smoke… Chocolate pudding and fresh air…

_A sound_… The stop and go clicking of a typewriter used in earnest… The roar of a motorcycle tearing a line of dust through the desert… The infectious laughter of a caring and innocent heart…

_A taste_... The bite of tobacco and good whiskey… The comfort of hot coffee, taken black… The sweet smoothness of pudding licked straight from the cup…

_A touch_... The crushing affection of a wrap-both-arms-around-and-lift bear hug… The cold and smooth sheen of a gun used with the best intentions… The warmth of a body snuggled next to you without a spoken invitation…

Vash saw them everywhere, in everyone. It hurt like hell. More than a gunshot, more than a punch in the gut, more than longing, more than emptiness… but in this way, he could keep them close. In this way, he didn't have to lose them completely.

He wouldn't have it any other way.


	27. Justification

**27. Justification**

Vash had refused to leave Knives' side since he'd brought him back almost a week ago. Meryl was concerned about him, being cooped up in that dark bedroom all day. He was hardly eating, and she knew he wasn't sleeping. She had tried to get him to leave his post, even just for a little while. She had tried being demanding, and then worried, but Vash had just mumbled, "need to be here," and left it at that.

Meryl simply accepted that he wasn't going to budge, frowned tersely when appropriate, and did her best to make sure Vash didn't end up bedridden next to his brother. She brought him three meals a day, but would always find the tray untouched and cold later. He was ignoring the food as if it wasn't even there. Like he was ignoring her. After a few days, all that was exchanged between them were charged silences.

So when Vash finally spoke one evening when she arrived with dinner, Meryl was so shocked she almost dropped the tray.

"You know, I almost killed Knives once."

His voice was soft, but it seemed to be taking up the entire room. Meryl froze in place a few paces behind his chair, holding her breath, afraid that if she made the slightest sound, he would suddenly notice her presence and again lapse into silence. So she stood absolutely still and listened.

"It was a long time ago, just after the Great Fall. I waited until he was asleep and then I went and found a rock. I was going to use it to bash his head open. I was so angry with him… he had killed Rem, caused the ships to crash… I wanted him to suffer, to feel what it felt like to be betrayed. I wanted to hurt him like he had hurt me."

"I was right there. I was standing with the rock raised, poised above him. I could have done it, it would have been easy. But I didn't. In the end, I couldn't bring myself to do it. So I threw the rock to the ground before I could change my mind."

Suddenly, Meryl noticed that Vash was crying. His shoulders were shaking slightly, and there was a warble in his voice that made a pang shoot through her heart. She wanted to go to him, to wrap him in her arms and whisper that everything was going to be all right. But she couldn't. Meryl felt like she was intruding on an extremely private moment and that if she forced her presence, it would shatter. So she remained planted in place as Gunsmoke's most notorious outlaw broke down right in front of her.

"I've often wondered if I should have done it… if I should have just killed Knives. If I had, so many would have been saved. He's hurt so many… wouldn't that justify killing him? If I had, those people would have lived. If I had, my life would have been so much easier… but I just couldn't do it."

Vash's tears were now body-wrenching sobs. He curled into himself and cried with so much force that his breaths were coming in heaving gasps, his anguish causing Meryl's soul to physically ache. She squeezed her eyes shut against the sound, causing silent tears to stream down her cheeks.

"I just couldn't do it… I am such a coward…"

"No."

Meryl's voice startled even her. Vash's breath hitched in his throat, signaling that he'd heard her. Meryl accepted this as a reassurance and continued.

"No, Vash. You're not a coward. You're a good man. A good man who's taking care of his brother."

Vash never did turn to face her or make any other action to acknowledge her presence. But after her words, his tears came a little easier, a little quieter. He seemed to calm a little. Meryl wanted desperately to hug him, to hold him, to complete some sort of physical embodiment of the loving emotions that were filling her up. But she resisted, knowing that a display like that would ruin the moment before them.

So Meryl retreated, taking the tray and gently closing the door behind her.

Vash would let her know when he was ready.


	28. Plan B

A/N: Shameless fun and silliness with Vash and Wolfwood. I meant for this to be much shorter, but I had _way _too much fun writing the gunfight parts. Enjoy!

* * *

**28. Plan B**

Vash and Wolfwood tore down the hotel hallway, bandits and their bullets in hot pursuit. As they rounded a corner, Wolfwood's heel slipped on the worn hardwood, causing him to stumble slightly, barely dodging a barrage of bullets that ripped into the wall just about his head. _Shit!_ He silently cursed, firing shots over his shoulder. If they didn't get out of this _now_, they were both going to end up twice their weight in lead. And dammit, but Wolfwood wasn't about to die in some sleazy hotel with some spiky-haired moron of gunman who didn't know that the definition of 'low profile' meant not starting a drinking game at the saloon and then pissing off the local gang leader by throwing up all over him.

"Vash, we need some cover!" Wolfwood shouted, noting that this time his return fire managed to take out one of the bandits, judging by the yowl behind them.

"I know I know I know I KNOW!" Vash screamed. He was frantically looking for an exit, breaking his stride only to dodge the bullets that managed to make it past Wolfwood's cover fire. But the hallways were getting narrower, and soon they would hit a dead end, no pun intended. And that would be bad. Very bad.

Suddenly, Vash noticed a door leaning slightly ajar, coming up ahead on the left. It wasn't much, but at least it was something.

"Quick! In here!" Vash yelled, throwing the door open with his elbow. Wolfwood caught his cue by diving into the open room, allowing Vash opportunity to cover him with a series of quick rounds. Once the preacher was inside, Vash backed into the room, slamming the door behind him and turning the lock.

"What the hell are we going to do now?" Wolfwood panted. He took the few moments they had before the gang caught up to them to reload his weapon. Vash followed suit, snapping a new speed loader into his Colt with practiced precision.

"We have to get out of this building," Vash said, quickly taking stock of their surroundings. "It's a death trap- we need to get out in the open so we can pick these guys off."

"What, the window?" Wolfwood asked, gesturing to the only window in the small hotel room. Of course, it was at least three stories up, but compared to what was chasing them, it was starting to look pretty good.

"Nah, they've probably got a group waiting outside in case we manage to escape."

"Shit!" Wolfwood tensed, hearing the bandits' footsteps running closer. "Well, do we have a plan B?"

Vash paused for a moment, thinking. Then he grabbed a nearby chair and proceeded to wedge it underneath the doorknob.

Wolfwood stared at him incredulously. "Are you SERIOUS?"

"You have a better idea?"

"Yeah, giving them your scrawny hide!"

"Hey! That's not very nice!"

Their conversation was interrupted by a sudden barrage of gunfire that easily chewed through the door and the surrounding walls, causing both men to duck and hit the floor. Apparently the gang had caught up with them.

"Okay, the window it is then," Vash announced. He jumped up and threw open said window, perching himself on the sill in a ready position. Glancing back at Wolfwood, he asked, "You coming?"

"Yes, dammit," Wolfwood growled. He frowned at the lopsided grin Vash tossed his way before jumping out the window with a rather girlish scream.

_If we make it out of this alive, I'm going to kill him_, Wolfwood thought as he readied himself for the fall. Then again, maybe he should keep him around for a little while longer. Or at least long enough to use the moron to cushion his fall…

Grinning to himself, Wolfwood let his weight drop off the edge and into vertigo.


	29. Secrets

A/N: Based on a scene from TriMax, Vol. 1. It's so small you could miss it. Also, this chapter was partially inspired by the last lines from J.D. Salinger's The Catcher In The Rye (one of my all-time favorites): "It's funny. Don't ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody." This seems very Wolfwood to me.

Warning: This chapter contains strong language, including a couple F-bombs. It was bound to happen at some point...

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**29. Secrets**

_That's fair, isn't it? You're keeping stuff from me, too…_

Wolfwood kept replaying Vash's words over and over again in his mind. He was right; he _was_ keeping secrets. Lots of secrets. Big secrets. Secrets about Knives, secrets about his mission. Secrets about himself.

Most of Wolfwood's life had been one big ball of regret, hidden in secrets. He was used to hiding things from people. Because if people knew too much about you, they became dangerous. Secrets were the only way to stay alive, because you can never trust anyone, truly.

Secrets…

But it was different with Vash, wasn't it? Damn it all to Hell, but that spiky-headed buffoon could make Wolfwood reconsider everything he thought to be true, to be necessary, in one clear-eyed glance. It was like he could see straight through to his soul. Sometimes, Wolfwood wondered if Vash could see him more clearly than he would ever see himself.

One glance, and Wolfwood wanted to right every wrong ever committed, hell, right every one of _his _wrongs. One glance, and he wanted to rid the world of hatred and greed, to do his best to make the world a better place. To do his goddamn best. Because he should. Because it was _the right thing to do_. To live clean, to walk a higher path… to be innocent again, like before all the regret and all the secrets…

It was goddamn unnerving, to say the least.

As Wolfwood made his way up to Vash's hotel room, he half-heartedly tried to quiet his disconcerting thoughts. Why did he feel the need to do this? Spill his guts and all? Was it because him and Vash were friends? Wolfwood had never really had any close friends, once he reached a certain age. But him and Vash… it was different, that was all he could figure out about it. He felt he owed him _this_, at least, some form of thanks for a favor he couldn't quite name. Wolfwood had never felt like he'd owed anything to anyone before, not one goddamn thing. But Vash…

Was it was because it was the right thing to do? Wolfwood had never done the 'right' thing before, either. He always did what was better for himself, what was necessary for survival, what was easier at the time. But never the right thing. He was a fucking mercenary, for Christ's sake! He was paid money to make his employer's problems disappear, often with solutions that involved bullets and blood. He was a cold-blooded killer, how could he even know what the rightthing was?

Maybe it was to make himself feel better. Part of him cynically looked for what he would gain from this, as if confessing his sins to some higher power would cleanse his soul. Although Vash was probably the closet thing Wolfwood would ever come to angels and God, he wasn't convinced that anyone would ever forgive him of his sins… there were so many… too many to count a hundred times over on his sinning, blood-stained hands. And even if he somehow managed to be forgiven… did he even deserve such mercy?

Wolfwood sucked in a harsh breath and blew it out in a smoke-tinged huff. So many questions… almost as many of them as secrets, no?

Whatever the reason, Wolfwood surfaced from his thoughts and found himself standing in front of Vash's hotel room door. Forcing down his emotions and instincts that were bubbling up like a burning bile, Wolfwood quickly rapped on Vash's door, once, twice. Once before he could change his mind, twice for good measure.

"Hey, Spiky!"

No answer. Wolfwood almost took this as a sign to turn his sorry butt around and scuttle back downstairs, but something kept him planted. He was in this business now, even if he didn't know what said goddamn business was. He knocked once more before trying the knob. It gave with a turn, causing Wolfwood to gulp uncomfortably. It was now or never. He pushed the door open with a deep breath and-

"I hate to bring up our earlier conversation but… huh?"

The room was empty. Everything was in order, with the spartan bed, the single window, the ugly-ass armchair. But no Vash.

"He stepped out…" Wolfwood announced to no one but himself. Vash had left and hadn't told him. He had gone to all this trouble, was ready to bare his fucking soul, and Vash had stepped out.

"Shit." He shut the door with more than necessary force before slowly turning back the way he came, hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders slumped; his usual defenses back in their proper place. Looking back on it, Wolfwood convinced himself that it was for the best that Vash hadn't been in his room that day. Because if he had been… Wolfwood could only shake his head at that one.

Figures.


	30. Home Cooking

A/N: This one is a little abstract, but it came to exactly 100 words on the first try. Those of you who've written drabbles know how hard that can be, so I decided to leave this one as is. Enjoy!

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**30. Home Cooking**

"Why did you come back?"

She stood in an apron, framed in the kitchen doorway. The domesticity sent a pang through his heart. Her hands were busy twisting a dishtowel, the fabric being strangled between her raw fingers. Suffocated like her emotion. Behind her, the process of dinner was spread throughout the kitchen, a pot of boiling water simmering on the stove. Bubbling up like all the things he should say.

_Love. Hate. Life. Death. Scars scars scars scarsscarsscarsscars…_

_Peace._

He answered her with a slow, sideways smile and a soft kiss on the hairline.

"Because I like your cooking."


	31. Comfort of The Chase

**31. Comfort of The Chase**

_Clothing, shaken and folded neatly_… check.

_Toiletries, labeled and organized_… check.

_Money, counted and folded, emergency funds hidden in her right boot_… check.

_Derringers, oiled, loaded and stowed properly_… double check.

Meryl went over her mental checklist for packing as she straightened her traveler's cloak in the cracked, spotted mirror that every cheap motel seemed to have. After going through it three times, she was satisfied that she had everything. Then she paused, suddenly struck by how this routine of running and bullets had become just another part of her life. How chasing some idiotic outlaw across the desert, how putting her life, her friends and certainly her sanity in harm's way, and how living out of her suitcase by day and sleeping with a derringer under her pillow by night, had suddenly become her reality. How it all had suddenly become normal.

But Meryl had always known that a desk job was not for her. After all, she had been running away for most of her life. She ran away from her family, she ran away from boredom, from complacency, from the too easy satisfaction of the familiar. She ran because she knew that if she ever stopped, she would be left with nothing but her cylindrical thoughts and her doubting emotions, all the what-ifs that haunted her mind before she fell asleep each night.

Everyone had told her it was crazy for a young woman to want to travel across the Outer in search of the most dangerous man conceivable. But she had done it, was still doing it.

Meryl gathered her things and exited the dingy motel, wheeling her suitcase out the door and into possible danger, probable conflict and almost certain chaos. Ahead of her, she could see Vash and his ridiculous red coat standing out against the endless sands. Meryl allowed herself a wry smile. They had all said she was crazy, and they were probably right. But this time, she was running towards something. Or, at least, someone.


	32. Scars

**32. Scars**

Millie opened the door to the darkened room, shifting specks of sand rolling ahead of her wake. Humming slightly to herself, she crossed to the bedside table and set down the tray that held Knives' dinner. Tonight it was tomato soup to go with Knives' usual portion of utmost disgust and unyielding hatred.

After arranging the utensils and napkin on the tray, Millie turned her attention to checking Knives' dressings. Deft fingers peeled away bandages to examine the puckered red flesh beneath, replacing and redressing where needed. And as usual, she ignored Knives' hissing flinches of revulsion every time she came in contact with his skin. Once the gauze and tape were smoothed down, Millie turned to leave. But at the doorway she paused.

"It looks like those wounds are healing nicely, but I'm afraid they're probably going to scar," she stated without turning around. A stiff silence permeated the room, almost like Millie thought Knives would answer.

"Scars…" Millie murmured thoughtfully, her head dipping slightly as she grasped the doorknob. "I suppose that means you and Mr. Vash really are twins now."

Later, it would take Millie hours to stitch up the wounds that Knives reopened.


	33. To Each Their Own

**33. To Each Their Own**

Meryl blearily rubbed her face as she shuffled to the kitchen, silently cursing the morning suns for shining so brightly. She stood on her tiptoes, stretching to her maximum height in order to reach a cupboard with a stiff, blind hand. She quickly became confused, however, when her search came up with nothing by empty space.

Meryl's confusion quickly turned to panic, and she began throwing open all the nearby drawers and cabinets. It had to be here somewhere, it just had to be…

In her frantic flurry, Meryl noticed something out of the corner of her eye. Or someone, rather.

"VASH! Where is it?"

The accused gunman threw her a cheshire grin, his legs dangling childishly from his perched position on the counter. "Where's what?" He asked innocently.

"You KNOW what I'm talking about," Meryl actually growled. "GIVE IT TO ME!"

"Not unless you give back what YOU took from ME," Vash said evenly, still smirking.

Meryl began sputtering angrily, uttering animal-like grunts of rage, a vein throbbing dangerously at her temple.

"A fair trade-off, and we'll call it even, hmm?"

She gathered herself together with no small amount of effort. "Deal."

After the switch had been made, the two sat at opposite ends of the table, regarding each other. It was Vash who broke the silence.

"Whew, I'm sure glad you gave it up, Insurance Girl!" He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I thought you were actually going to explode there for a second!"

"I'll admit it was a clever plan, and I apologize for hiding your alcohol. It wasn't my place to do so," Meryl replied coolly, sipping from her mug. "But deprive me of my coffee again, and you'll be the one exploding."

Vash blanched and promptly buried himself in his drink.


End file.
